


All is Not as it Seems

by MadScribbler



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hell Hurt Them All, Hurt Loki (Marvel), Hurt Thor (Marvel), Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, I am Not a Nice Person Apparantly, Just mostly, Loki's Not All Bad, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Whump, why not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-05-23 11:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14933469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadScribbler/pseuds/MadScribbler
Summary: Immediately post-Avengers 2012Odin is . . . inventive . . . with his punishments, and very, very harsh. There's only one problem: it wasn't Loki's fault. Really.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Loki

His breath fogged in front of him, frenzied exhalations that froze in the cold air and stung the battered skin of his face as he ran through them. He gasped and coughed, gulping for air that was too cold in his tight chest. He felt as if he’d been running for years, but the pounding of footsteps behind him spurred him to continue, to run faster.

At a particularly hard thump he dared a quick glance over his shoulder. He ducked, but not nearly fast enough. The giant’s hand caught him across his already battered chest, knocking him off of his feet and sending him rolling through the thin snow to crash against a large slab of ice. Loki lay where he landed, trying to breathe through the new pain. By the time he’d gathered his wits enough to move it was too late. He was cornered. 

Only three giants remained of the original six that had hounded him across Jotunheim, but those three were proving more than a match for the battered and bleeding god. Loki put up a hand: to beg for a moment’s respite, to blast them with all the magic that remained accessible in his body, he knew not which for. The giant in the center, the biggest and ugliest of the bunch, wrapped its frozen fist around Loki’s arm and squeezed until he could feel the bones crunch. 

A black haze hung before him, and he could hear a scream in the distance that he supposed was his. He knew he was losing consciousness, and that he likely wouldn’t wake again if he did, but he found that he suddenly didn’t care. He was tired of the running, of the fighting, of constantly living up to his own inadequacies. He spared a quick thought for Thor, wondering even as he did so why he cared, and prepared himself to meet his daughter.

The giants weren’t done playing with him, however. The one grinding his arm to pulp lifted sharply, jerking Loki off of the frozen ground and back to himself. It put its face next to his and laughed, blasting him with the frozen stench of its breath, then shook him until Loki thought his head would snap free from his shoulders. The broken ends of bone ground against each other in his arm and he felt his shoulder separate several times before finally giving way with a sick pop. 

The giant drew his arm back and threw Loki, launching him across miles of jagged ice before he finally landed on the side of a small cliff. He hit the ground hard and rolled, lost to momentum, before fetching to a stop against a jagged shard of ice at the edge of a seemingly endless drop. He felt the knife-sharp edge of the ice cut and sink deeply into his side. He pulled back sharply, instinctively, and turned onto his stomach. He lay on the very edge, tasting his own blood and staring dazedly into the depths, until the thumping of once again approaching feet drew him from his stupor. 

He rolled carefully to his back, away from the edge of the cliff, and looked up to see the giants grouped together at the top of the short hill he’d just tumbled down. They were leering at him, already sure of their victory. Something in Loki snapped. Tired of fighting he may be—weary of spirit and broken in body—but he was nobody’s victim. He could choose for himself to quit, to give up, but he simply did not have it in him to let them win. 

He was a god and a rightful born king, the Jotuns sneering down on him were lesser beings: they should be kneeling at his feet yet here he lay gasping at theirs!

He reached deeply within himself and gathered the shreds of magic he had left available to him. Grinning with blood stained teeth, he lifted his good arm in a rude gesture that he had learned on Earth and disappeared. 

 

A/N: 

OK, I admit it. I’m a Loki lover. There, I’ve said it. 

He is by far my favorite character in the MCU, largely because he’s always been my favorite of the Norse pantheon. The poor guy has kind of gotten the short shrift in both the movie verse and in the original eddas, so I’m opting to ignore everything after the first Avengers movie and indulge myself in the offering of my own explanations. Also, this has been molding unfinished on my computer since then, so there’s that. 

Here I go, showing Loki some love and support by beating the shit out of him then kicking him right in the feelings while he’s down......  
I’m evil. <_>

I will try and post a chapter a week, though I am at heart a very lazy person so no hard promises! Reviews make me work faster, though . . . . Also, I promise the chapters get longer as it goes. I like to start small and work my way up. ;)

Oh, yeah. I forgot: they’re not mine. Not for lack of wishing, though! And, reviews are love? Please? I will beg; it won’t be pretty.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two  
Steve

“OK, kiddos,” Tony walked into the common room, trailing popcorn from the two enormous bowls he held in his arms. “Who’s ready for movie time?”

Natasha relieved him of one overflowing bowl and plopped herself down in the middle of a nest of pillows on the floor, pushing Clint aside to make space. “Mmm, butter.” She licked her fingers, drawing the eye of every male in the room. She stopped with one finger in her mouth, looking up and raising a dangerous eyebrow. Bruce tried to cover his laugh with a cough, moving quickly to help Tony with the other bowl and somehow managing to end up behind the billionaire to do so. Steve felt his face flame and he averted his eyes quickly, feigning interest in the remote control.

Tony’s innocent, “More butter Nat?” was followed by a grunt when Bruce elbowed him and pushed him down on the couch, plopping the bowl back into his lap. Natasha just snickered.

“Hey, wait, where’s the—“ Clint was cut off when an eight pound bag of Raisinettes hit him squarely in the face. “Sweet!” he said, ripping it open and shoving a handful into his mouth. “’anks ‘ony,” he said around the chocolate.

Thor was a bit quicker, managing to catch the Milk Duds that flew his way. “What form of moving entertainment are we enjoying tonight, Stark?”

“Ah, tonight. Tonight’s a good one. Batman: the Dark Knight. I never get to watch it ‘cause Pepper hates action movies. But, she’s in Dubai for a week, so I’m busting out my favorites.”

Steve groaned, anticipating an entire week of loud explosions. “Do we have to watch action reels every night?” he said, dangerously close to whining.

“Every night,” Tony nodded seriously. “JARVIS?”

 _Enjoy the movie, sirs and madam_. The lights dimmed and Steve slumped in his chair, reaching over Clint’s head to steal a handful of popcorn.

Despite himself, he found he was actually enjoying the movie. Until, that is, as a hospital exploded onscreen there was a loud < _pop_ > of displaced air and Loki appeared in the middle of the room.

He was slumped to the side, listing as if the ground were uneven. His clothes were torn and bloody, his normally sleek black hair wildly disheveled, and he held his left arm carefully clamped to his chest with his right.

Steve jumped to his feet, stepping quickly between Loki and the rest of the group. His arm itched for his shield, but it was two floors and half a building away in his room.

Tony slammed a fist on the arm of the couch. A panel opened, revealing a gauntlet that he jammed onto his hand. Taking position close to Steve, he pointed the repulsor at Loki’s chest. “JARVIS, lock down the tower, code alpha-5-6-5-4-green.” A muted double beep sounded from the ceiling. The lights came up and the movie cut off.

Steve heard a thump from the other couch, followed by heavy breathing and deep growling. He darted a quick look to the other side of the room to see Bruce on the floor, trembling and fighting for control. Natasha was crouched behind him, one hand on his bulging back, murmuring reassurances. The gun in her other hand never wavered from Loki’s face. Behind her Clint also had his gun out and pointed. His hand trembled very slightly, though, nearly imperceptibly, and he was pressed tight against the wall at his back.

Thor approached Loki, stopping just out of arms’ reach. He held one hand out hesitantly, the other twitching as if missing his hammer. “Loki! What are you doing here? I though Father had you imprisoned. Has he released you? Why are you injured?”

Loki shook his head and sneered. “Thor, ever the naïve one. Odin never held me; the moment you returned to Midgard he bound my magic and banished me to Jotunheim.”

“What? Why, brother? Why would he do such a thing?”

“Family reunion later,” Steve snapped, cutting Loki off before he could answer. “What are you doing here, Loki? What do you want?”

Loki sneered at Steve. “I am here to,” he swallowed, spitting the next words out as if they tasted foul, “request your aid.”

“Wait a minute here,” Tony said, taking another step forward so he stood even with Steve. “You tried to take over the world, and now you want us to help you!? What, you try to conquer somebody else and they kicked your ass, too?”

“You simpleton!” Loki snapped. “I was held in thrall by the staff. I did not try to conquer your realm of my own volition. Think, fool. If I had been in control I would have succeeded and you would all of you be on your knees in front of me now.” The speech seemed to take its toll on Loki; he slumped further before catching himself with a gasp and standing straight again.

Thor had taken a step forward, reaching toward his brother when he wilted, but stopped when Loki shot him an icy glare. “Truly, brother?” he asked, childish hope shining from his eyes. “You were not the author of your actions?”

“You were being controlled, too?” Steve asked, skeptical. “Like you did to Clint?”

“Yes,” Loki spat, then turned a sneer and a raised an eyebrow on the archer. “Though, of course, I was not quite as _pathetic_ as he.”

Clint stepped forward, the tremor gone from his arm. Natasha stood from the now quiet Bruce and stepped in front of Clint.

“I don’t know,” she said, pulling another gun but not pointing it, “you did look pretty pathetic on your knees in Germany.”

“Please, woman. I can transport between realms with a thought, conjure copies of myself with a flick of my wrist. Do you honestly think it would be that difficult for me to have gotten free of a few primitive projectile weapons and,” he turned a dismissive glare on Steve, “a mortal in striped nightclothes?”

“Yeah, not really believing it here,” Tony drawled. “We kicked your ass and you rolled like a whipped puppy.”

Loki pulled himself straight though it was obviously painful. “Do you really think I would have surrendered so easily? I am a _god_ , you mortal infant.”

Tony snorted, “Yeah, of trickery and lies.”

Thor raised his hand, “Enough!” he bellowed. Everyone in the room flinched when a clap of thunder sounded outside. “Loki. Brother. Please; do you speak the truth?”

Loki half turned to face Thor, but stopped with a strangled gasp, listing dangerously. Thor reached out a hand, trying to catch him, but Loki flinched back from him violently and nearly fell, barely catching himself with one arm on the back of a nearby chair. He clung to the chair and gasped for a moment. A shiver ran through the damaged god and he raised his head, his already pale skin now nearly translucent and his green eyes glazed.

Steve was alarmed to see a fresh trickle of blood run down his right side, further darkening the already soaked clothes. He took an automatic step forward, the urge to help hardwired into him from birth. Tony had stepped forward, too, but Steve took the priming of the repulsor to mean he had done so for a different reason. The cocking of several guns behind him spoke to Natasha and Clint’s feelings, as well.

“Brother?” Thor asked, his voice uncharacteristically small.

Loki had to swallow before he could answer. “Yes, Thor,” he said, sounding defeated. “I speak the truth. I had very little control over my actions and I,” he made a face before forcing the next words out, “apologize for the misdeeds that I committed.”

Steve saw Bruce, finally back in control, rise from the floor from the corner of his eye. “I’m not quite sure an apology is enough in this situation.”

Loki turned a weary gaze to Bruce, “I did what I could to protect your planet by aiding in your defeat of me, though I knew what the price to myself would be.”

Tony snorted, “Pretty piss-poor showing then, don’t ya think? You killed hundreds of people.”

“I did not have much choice, Stark. My control was tenuous, at best. You were able to close the portal, were you not?”

“I did that,” Natasha said.

“It should not have been possible,” Loki turned back to Steve, appeal and defeat clear in his glazed eyes. “I whispered the flaw into Selvig’s mind myself when I enthralled him. I instructed him to build it into the portal.”

“Well I, for one, think that’s a load of bullshit,” Tony said.

“Oh come now, Stark. I grew up a prince of Asgard. Do you think me unschooled in the arts of war? I would not have left such a glaring oversight in my plans. Had the flaw been unavoidable, I would certainly not have let you take the staff from me not once, but twice. I quite literally handed you the key to my defeat.”

Steve glanced down at Loki’s feet and saw a small red puddle on the carpet. He stepped forward, spreading his hands to separate everyone. “All right, everybody calm down. Thor, take Loki to medical, don’t let him out of your sight. Bruce, help him, please,” he got a short nod from Bruce. “I’ll contact Fury.”

“No, Captain, please. We must not tell the Man of Fury. He is an excellent warrior but he does not always listen to reason where my brother is concerned.”

Steve sighed heavily and considered. “Fine,” he decided. “One day. I’ll give you one day to rest and I’m calling him.” He held a single finger in front of Loki’s face. “ _One_.”

Thor stepped forward again, reaching tentatively to his brother and smiling when Loki let him take his elbow. “Thank you, Captain.”

Tony rolled his eyes and powered down his repulsor. “Fine, he can stay while we talk about this. But I want him on lockdown,” he pointed at Loki. “And don’t get comfortable. You won’t be staying long.”

“I will ensure that my brother causes no harm, Man of Iron.”

“Oh yeah, Point Break? You did such a great job of that last time, while he was throwing me out a window.”

Loki shrugged one shoulder carefully in dismissal, “You have a suit of armor that flies.”

“I wasn’t WEARING IT!”

Loki snarled. “My instructions were to slit the throat of anyone found to be immune to the staff’s influence. You are welcome, mortal.” He sagged, his sudden venom leaving and taking his strength with it. Only Thor’s grip on his elbow kept him upright.

“Come, brother. You are in need of medical care. Doctor Banner, I would greatly appreciate your assistance.” Bruce hesitated, then nodded and moved to help Thor support Loki.

“Wait, no,” Clint took a step sideways to block the door. “I don’t agree to this. He can’t be trusted.”

“Clint—“ Natasha started.

“No, Nat, no. He’s the _bad_ _guy_ ,” Clint waved his arm, gesturing sharply at Loki. “We don’t help the bad guy, we throw him in jail. Or we shoot him.”

“Barton, please. He is my brother.”

Thor’s simple plea seemed to take some of the fight out of Clint. He looked to Steve for help. Steve could feel his face hardening into what Tony called his ‘Captain face.’ He shook his head and gestured for Clint to step aside. He did, but reluctantly, glaring at Steve the entire time.

Bruce and Thor left, supporting the now semi-conscious Loki between them. Thor murmured a thank you as he passed that Clint pointedly ignored.

“JARVIS,” Tony said, “keep an eye on him. Continuous video feed.”

 _Of course, sir_.

“I don’t like this, _Captain_ ,” Clint imbued the title with as much venom as he could.

“Neither do I,” Steve snapped. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment; bringing a hand up to rub at the headache he could feel building behind his eyes. Looking back up to Clint, he softened his tone. “We have to look at it as a possibility. We have to give him the same chance we gave you.”

The muscles in Clint’s jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth, trapping whatever words were there before they could escape his mouth. He holstered his gun with a quick movement and stalked from the room. Natasha shot Steve a sympathetic look before following him. It didn’t escape his notice that she kept her guns out.

Tony sighed. “You know you probably just signed our death warrants, right?”

Steve shrugged. “We defeated him once, we can do it again,” he turned to Tony and gave a half grin. “Besides, we can always unleash the Hulk on him.”

Tony laughed, “Yeah, I watched the feed after the battle. That was beautiful.”

“Glad you enjoyed it, cause you get to help me keep Bruce from Hulking out while he treats Loki.”

 

A/N:  
Wow. It is way harder than I thought to include everyone in the same scene and not have it turn into just a complete mess! Also, most of this was written shortly after the first Avengers came out. I got it more than half done, then consigned it to digital purgatory and forgot about it. I’ve decided to resurrect and finish, but I’m not going to the trouble to re-write and re-plot to reflect the rest of the movies because . . . well . . . because it’s my story and I like it the way it is. So there. Just consider it AU and roll with it.

I admit I’m not entirely conversant with the comics. I am very familiar with Loki’s eddas, though. I’m drawing mostly off of the movie and internet research, with a healthy sprinkling of the mythos thrown in for extra flavor. I’m trying for a balance between the movie verse, the comic verse, and the original myths; with the emphasis, of course, on the movie.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Update day! Shut up, I’m not nervous; you’re nervous. Just ignore the author shaking in the corner.

 

Chapter 3  
Bruce

 

The trip down the hall to the elevator was a slow and painful one. Loki stumbled along, keeping his feet under him through stubbornness alone. He leaned against Thor, head down and eyes squeezed shut in pain. Bruce could hear faint, half-smothered whimpers under every exhalation.

They were nearly at the elevator when Thor apparently decided he’d had enough of listening to his brother’s pain. He paused, knelt, and scooped Loki up into his arms as if he weighed nothing.

“Thor, what are you doing?” Loki squirmed, trying feebly to free himself.

“I am helping you, brother. You are in pain and walking only hurts you further.”

“I am not a child or a woman to be carried so. Put me down.”

“No.” The simple answer was firm, unequivocal.

Loki was silent while they entered the elevator and Bruce pushed the appropriate button. They were moving before he spoke again.

“Why, Thor? Why do you care if I am in pain?” His voice was quiet, as if he were afraid of the answer he might receive.

“Because you are my brother, and I love you.”

“I am not your brother,” Loki scoffed.

“You are, Loki, in every way that matters,” Thor replied. Then, so soft that Bruce could hardly hear it, “You always have been, and I have been a very poor brother to you indeed.”

The words took the fight from Loki. He relaxed in his brother’s arms and laid his head against Thor’s shoulder, hiding his face.

Bruce shifted, uncomfortable with being so close to an obviously intimate family moment. Thankfully, the doors chimed and opened and he was able to put a few more feet of distance between himself and the two.

He led them into the medial wing, indicating a bed to Thor with a nod of his head. The big man lowered Loki gently to the bed, but the shift in position obviously still hurt. Loki grimaced, but accepted the pain in silence. Thor positioned himself firmly at the head of the bed, far enough out of the way that Bruce could work around him but very obviously not moving from his brother’s side. Before he could begin the exam Steve and Tony both entered the room, the former carrying his shield and the latter fully suited in his newest armor.

“Don’t mind us,” Iron Man called breezily. “We’re just here to supervise.” He leaned casually against the wall nearest Loki’s bed, crossing his arms and tapping his armored toes noisily against the floor.

“Yes, well, let’s just ignore the giant metal overcompensation in the corner, shall we?” Loki responded drily.

“Hmm, nice to know your wits weren’t bruised, at least,” Tony responded.

“All right, break it up, you two,” Steve leaned his shield up against the wall next to Tony with a deceptive casualness and stepped up to Bruce. “They’re kind of like a pair of toddlers, aren’t they? What can I do to help?”

Bruce huffed and rolled his eyes. He appreciated the attempt at humor—it definitely helped him keep the Big Guy at bay—but he was starting to get an idea of just how serious Loki’s injuries might be and it honestly pissed him off. The idea that a father could let this happen to his son . . . . Well. That was a path he’d best not let his thoughts go down right now. He gave himself a mental shake, sent calming thoughts in the Big Guy’s direction, and set to work examining Loki.

“All right; I need to get your clothes off so I can get a look at your injuries. It’ll probably be less painful to cut them off. Sorry,” Bruce grabbed the scissors and stepped up to Loki’s side. The flinch was subtle, just a tightening of the eyes and lips, but Bruce saw it. Loki raised his chin, allowing access to the neck of his shirt, but he held his breath while Bruce cut the material away.

Bruce could fell his anger rising as he exposed Loki’s chest, but tamped down on it firmly and continued; promising his other self a session in the Hulk-proof room later. He knew from Thor’s childhood stories that Loki was slender and always had been so, but what he was seeing was far beyond that. He’d seen dead famine victims with more meat on their bones.

Loki’s bruised skin was stretched so tight over his ribs that Bruce could count the breaks in them without benefit of an x-ray. The patterning of bruising around his left shoulder suggested dislocation, and the hiss of pain when Bruce cut the garments away confirmed his guess. More worrisome, though, was the large gash just under his left ribcage. The cloth was glued to his skin with dried blood; Bruce had to peel it carefully away, noting the trickles of fresh blood and the bits of cloth embedded in the wound as he did so. He was concentrating so hard on that, in fact, that he actually jumped a little when Tony leaned over his shoulder to point at the trickster.

“Just what, exactly, is that thing?”

Bruce blinked. He’d been concentrating so hard on the injuries that he’d completely missed the faintly glowing gold spot centered over Loki’s heart. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat, his veins lighting up gold for just a split second with each beat.

“That,” Loki said, his voice breathy and uneven, “is Odin’s gift for his beloved _son_. It binds my magic and prevents me from accessing any but the merest trickle of power.”

“Not gonna lie to you there, green-boy, but I’m kind of thinking that might be a good thing. For us, at least. For you, probably not so much,” Tony reached a hand around Bruce, finger extended to poke, and Bruce batted him away.

“Loki, I need to know if and how that will affect my treatment of you,” Bruce took a step back to force Tony to move away, then reached for a wad of gauze to try and stem the trickle of blood from Loki’s side.

“It,” Loki paused to gasp when Bruce pushed hard at his side, not acknowledging his whispered sorry. “It brings me down to your level, Stark. I am nearly as weak and helpless as a human under its binding.” The admission was ground out between clenched teeth, Loki’s whole body vibratingly tense. “I have barely enough magic left to me to sustain myself, and less remains to heal my injuries. I am brought so low that I must beg for aid from my enemies, and it is all because Odin cares for me so much he would not see me simply executed for my transgressions. He fancies himself a good father and merciful, and so would see me hunted by my own kind, or left to waste away amongst mortals.” Loki was growling by the end of his speech, so angry he forgot his injuries and pushed away from Bruce. The sharp movement obviously wasn’t a good idea; Loki gasped and curled around his damaged chest, rolling to his side and rocking for a moment.

Bruce had to close his eyes against the sudden dizzying wave of green that flooded his head. He vaguely heard Steve and Thor trying to placate Loki through the rush, and felt a metal hand fall tentatively on his shoulder.

He blocked the external sensations out as much as possible, blocked out the sight of Loki’s scarred and mutilated back, and concentrated on regulating his breathing and heartrate until he felt his always-fragile control return. Keeping his eyes closed, he spoke in a carefully calm tone to the room.

“Thor, Tony, Steve, please clear the room and let me treat my patient now.”

“Umm . . . Brucie, buddy, I’m not sure that’s really a good idea right now. I mean, I’d love to watch you beat Real Power here to a pulp again, but he’s kind of down and out right now. Not really a fair fight. And you’re looking a bit green around the gills,” Tony’s fingers tightened on Bruce’s shoulder.

“Tony, leave. Now, please,” Bruce opened his eyes and found Tony staring at him, helmet off, from less than two inches away. He flinched slightly, and Tony let go of his shoulder and backed a careful step away, hands held wide. “I’m fine, and we don’t really need an audience right now.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at him, then nodded and backed further away. “I’m keeping the video feeds going, but I’ll send them straight to archives. I’m still going to have JARVIS monitor the room, though, and we’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

“Fine,” Bruce conceded.

“Really. Right outside. Like, listening-with-a-glass-on-the-other-side-of-the-door outside.”

Bruce just rolled his eyes.

“No,” Thor’s voice was deep and contained the thunder that he’d been named for. “I will not leave my brother in such a distressing state.”

“Thor,” Bruce started, but was interrupted by laughter from the bed.

“You choose a wonderful time to care for me, _brother_. Where were you when Odin was implementing this punishment? Where were you while I ran from the Jotuns? Where were you in our childhood? Where were you after I FELL?!” Loki got more and more agitated with every question, raising himself up to scream the last into Thor’s face. It took the last of Loki’s energy. He collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily.

“Brother, I . . . .” Thor looked as if he’d been poleaxed. He reached a hand hesitantly to Loki, but let it fall before touching him. His face closed down and he turned on his heel, stalking from the room without a backward glance.

“That was . . . uncomfortable. I feel like that was uncomfortable. Was that uncomfortable? I know a few good therapists, do you think I should call them a therapist?”

“Tony, go. Bruce, Loki, I’m sorry but no; I’m staying. Loki is still an unknown, and I’m not leaving anyone alone with him right now,” Steve crossed his arms and planted his feet, the very picture of determination. Bruce knew better than to argue with him and simply nodded his head at the corner. Steve took the hint and stationed himself well out of the way. Tony gave him a significant look as he left, very obviously—and obnoxiously—mouthing _keep an eye on him_ to Steve.

Bruce took a deep breath and turned to the damaged Asgardian lying in front of him. He waited until Loki’s labored breathing evened out, then grabbed a new handful of gauze before approaching the bed.

“So, where did the scars on your back come from?” Bruce asked, wiping the gauze gently around the wound.

“I did tell you that it was not of my own volition that I attacked your realm, did I not?” Loki spoke reluctantly, his eyes fixed determinedly on the ceiling.

“You said that you were whammied by that staff; the mind gem, right? So, what; it didn’t work on you?” Steve asked.

“I am a god. The mind gem was only . . . partially effective. I required . . . additional persuasion.”

“So who, exactly, applied this persuasion? If you didn’t want to conquer Earth, who did?” Steve uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, his interest in the answer overriding Bruce’s admonition to keep out of the way.

“I cannot say,” Loki answered.

“You don’t know, or you won’t tell us?” Bruce asked.

“No. Do try to follow the conversation. I quite literally cannot say. A geas of secrecy has been placed upon me,” Loki’s acerbic tone was softening as he obviously tired.

“Can’t you break it? From what Thor has told us you’re this all-powerful sorcerer,” Steve said.

“So, my _brother_ has been telling tales of me,” Loki gave a slight twitch of the lips that could be a smile, then Bruce began probing the edges of the wound and he gasped. “Perhaps. After I have healed. Until then what magic I have accessible is . . . occupied.”

“Occupied doing what, exactly,” Steve asked, the suspicion in his voice clear.

“Healing,” Loki bit the word out and clenched his jaw.

Bruce didn’t know if it was the pity apparent in Steve’s quiet, _Oh_ , or if Loki had simply reached the end of his apparently limited cordiality, but Loki closed his eyes and snapped, “Be done with this farce and allow me to rest.”

“Loki, you came to us for help. So let us help you,” Steve said. “We need information, but if you’re in pain then I’m willing to let you rest first.”

“Just leave me. I will heal given the time to do so,” Loki turned his head, eyes still closed. “I simply need a place to rest and to gather my strength.”

“Well, since you’re here, at least let me do what I can to treat your wounds,” Bruce put the gauze down and reached for the equipment to start an IV. Loki didn’t answer, simply set his jaw and kept his head turned away from them. Steve, sensing the fragility of his acquiescence, stepped back and stopped hovering over the bed.

“Painkillers aren’t very effective on Thor, will I have the same problem with you?”

“I do not know.”

“Okay; I’ll start with a regular dose and we’ll work our way up from there if we need to,” Bruce started the IV and injected a slightly larger-than-average dose of painkillers and another of sedatives. In just a few seconds the lines of pain in Loki’s face and his tightly clenched eyes relaxed. Bruce waited a moment longer, then gave a gentle, experimental poke to one of the many bruises on Loki’s arm. He didn’t flinch.

“Steve, he’s out. Come assist me, please.”

The two of them worked together to catalogue, clean, and bandage all of Loki’s injuries. The longer they worked, the more difficult Bruce found it to keep his anger in check. Four of Loki’s ribs were broken, his left arm was broken in two places, his left shoulder was badly out of socket—with all of the attendant tissue and ligament damage—and Bruce didn’t even try to count all of the bruises and abrasions. The deep cut in his side had miraculously managed to miss anything vital, but it had bled quite a bit. Loki’s back was the worst of it all, though. It was covered in what could only be whip marks, some of them old enough to have scarred and some still raw and seeping. Bruce couldn’t find a single spot of unmarked skin, and was honestly impressed that he could still move freely with the damage that had been done; the scar tissue alone should have caused some restriction. Add all that to the obvious starvation that he had endured and it was surprising that he could even stand.

Bruce found himself conflicted. The being lying in front of him was responsible for the deaths of hundreds, had introduced Earth to alien beings that they were in no way ready to handle, and had started a war that they were only now learning the extent of. He was also—at least, according to him—an unwilling participant in this. If he were to be believed, Loki was just as much a victim of the Chitari invasion as anyone on Earth had been; perhaps a bit more, by the looks of his injuries and the strange device on his chest.

By the time they were done treating Loki, Bruce’s thoughts had taken a decidedly green hue. He left Steve to finish tucking in the sleeping trickster and headed for the kitchen in search of some calming herbal tea. He had a feeling that there would be at least one uncomfortable conversation before he could take some time to let the other guy vent some of his frustrations.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I am late and so sorry! I was dragged to a family BBQ Wednesday where I was forced to cuddle with my out-of-state niece and nephew, eat watermelon and hamburgers, play with puppies, and watch loud boomy fireworks. It was difficult, but I endured. Then I woke up Thursday to find that one of those adorable little booger factories gave me a dose of the flu bug. I did not endure; I hid under a blanket on my couch and felt sorry for myself. Worse, they gave it to the hubs, too, and I had to listen to him feel sorry for himself. Loudly and repeatedly.

Better late than never, I guess? Maybe? Sorry?

 

 

Chapter 4  
Bruce

 

Clint, Natasha, and Tony were already in the communal kitchen when Bruce got there. Clint paced the length of the kitchen as if it were a cage, barely glancing at Bruce when he entered. He looked lost, desperate, and overwhelmingly angry and Bruce immediately felt guilty. They were all so concerned with aiding someone who was—on the surface, at least—an enemy that they hadn’t really stopped to consider what Loki’s sudden arrival must be doing to the archer. Bruce knew that he’d been in therapy since the invasion, ordered there by Fury, but from what little he’d said about it the SHEILD-issued therapist was more concerned with keeping Clint in the field than with actually helping him come to terms with what had happened to him. He silently amended his ‘one’ uncomfortable conversation to ‘many.’

Natasha, of course, was fully aware of the potential problem. She sat at the end of the table nearest the door, casually eating a yogurt, but her eyes followed Clint’s ceaseless pacing. She nodded at Bruce as he entered, but kept her attention on the archer. Tony, seated at the other end of the table, twiddled with the tablet in his hands and ignored Bruce outright. Then again, that was nothing new.

He crossed the kitchen, filled a kettle and started it boiling before turning and addressing the elephant in the room. “JARVIS, could you ask Thor to come to the kitchen, please?”

_Of course, Dr. Banner._

“Steve is going to finish settling Loki in. He’ll join us in a minute.”

“Wait, Steve is _what_?!” Bruce pulled his shoulders up to his ears to protect them from the blistering accusation in Clint’s voice.

“Loki is sedated for now; I thought it would be a good time for us to get together to go over what our next step needs to be.”

“No,” Clint stopped pacing and rounded on Bruce, invading his personal space in a way that really wasn’t healthy. “Why are we ‘settling’ that murderer into a nice comfy bed?!”

“Clint—“ Natasha abandoned her yogurt and reached a restraining hand out to him.

“No Nat. This isn’t right,” Clint whirled away from Bruce and turned an accusatory glare on her. “Everyone seems to have forgotten that he’s the _bad guy_. He doesn’t get a nice comfy bed. He gets a prison cell.”

“You’re right Clint. It isn’t right,” Steve came into the kitchen, Thor right on his heels. “Nothing that happened with that invasion was right. Not what happened to you, not what happened to New York, not what happened to the entire world. This, though, this may be a chance for us to set some of that right. Because if Loki is telling the truth, then what happened to him wasn’t right, either.” Steve leaned on the counter next to Bruce, crossing his arms over his chest. Bruce privately admired the way the man could stand so casually and still be so obviously in command of the entire room. Thor, on the other hand, sitting next to Tony with his own arms crossed, looked as if he had shrunken in the past few hours.

“’If Loki is telling the truth’?!” Clint threw his hands in the air. “He’s the god of LIES! Nothing he says is the truth!”

“My brother is well versed in trickery, yes. But not everything that he says is a lie.” Thor was uncharacteristically subdued, his eyes focused on the table in front of him. “All too often he tells truths that are simply too bitter to hear, so we convince ourselves that what he says is false. Ignoring the truth in his words makes our own lies easier to bear; makes my own blindness easier to bear. I have ignored the truth in my brother’s words for far too long in order to sate my own ego,” here Thor looked up, resolve clear in his eyes. “I will ignore him no longer. “

The room was silent for a moment, everyone considering the weight in Thor’s words. Bruce grabbed the kettle from the stove before it could whistle, then turned to dig in the cabinet behind him for his favorite mug. He pulled enough out for everyone—it had been a rough day and he was sure some soothing tea would be welcomed by all—when Clint’s voice cut through the quiet.

“No, Clint stood still in the middle of the room, shaking his head. “There’s no way he’s the victim here. Not after what he did. Not after all the people that he killed. He brought the fucking Chitari to Earth. He made us a target for whatever big badass he claims was controlling him. He made me—“ Clint looked to Steve. “No. He doesn’t just get a free pass for that.”

“Not a free pass, no. He needs to prove himself, but we need to talk about giving him a chance to do that,” Steve’s voice was gentle, understanding, but firm.

Bruce spoke with his back still to the group, his control still tenuous enough that he felt the need to avoid eye contact. “He’s not lying about his injures. He has several broken bones, a badly dislocated shoulder, and he’s lost quite a bit of blood. He’d been . . . whipped. Frankly, I’m amazed that he can move his arms at all with the amount of scar tissue on his back. He’s been starved well beyond what a human could survive, and the scans show that nearly every bone in his body has been broken, multiple times. He was tortured. Brutally. And he claims that the mind gem was used on him as well. If even half of that was true, and he still managed to fight against it enough to offer us a chance for victory . . . we need to at least look into that.”

Clint didn’t respond, and Bruce snuck a look over his shoulder to find him glaring at floor, his pacing abandoned for now.

Tony put the tablet down and spoke up, “Well. That was a stirring speech. Why so lovey-dovey for Loki all of a sudden? I thought your Green Guy hated that green guy.”

Bruce smiled at Tony and handed him a mug of tea. “He did. I think it was more distain that hatred, though. I don’t know, now he’s . . . protective . . . maybe?”

“Protective!? Of that monster?” Clint cut his hand through the air, dismissing both Bruce’s words and the tea that he held out to him.

“I saw a little girl holding a stuffed Hulk doll yesterday at the supermarket,” Bruce turned and placed the mug back on the counter.

Tony blinked, “OK . . . non sequitur much?”

“It wasn’t all that long ago that he—that I—was considered a monster. It’s not inconceivable that we will be considered so again in the future,” Bruce glanced sympathetically to Clint. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

A silence settle over the room, pressing heavily on all of their shoulders. Tony picked his tablet back up and turned it on, Thor looking over his shoulder with pain clear in his eyes. Bruce caught a glimpse of their sleeping patient on the screen. Clint still glared at the ground, but privately Bruce was proud of him. He was obviously still pissed—with every right to be so—but it looked as if he was actually considering giving Loki a chance to prove his story. Progress was being made, go team. Steve broke the silence with a heavy sigh.

“I promised him one day to heal. We’ll give him that, then we can take it from there. At the very least we need information. He claims that he was controlled by someone else; we need to know who and what for. Was the Chitauri attack on Earth the end plan, or is there something else coming that we need to be prepared for?” He glanced around the room, getting a nod from everyone but Clint.

“Fine,” the archer conceded. “We keep him here for one day, we interrogate him, then we turn him over to Fury.”

“I agree that there are many pressing questions that need answered, but I will not turn my brother over to SHEILD. I do not trust that they will use restraint where my brother is concerned. I will see to his rehabilitation on my own,” Thor held up a hand to forestall Clint’s protest. “If that must happen on another realm, then I will take him from Midgard myself. I will assume responsibility for his actions from this moment on.”

“So now war criminals get a free pass, just because their daddy was mean to them?” Clint snarled.

Bruce sighed. So much for progress.

Thor began to rise from the table, mouth open to protest, but sat back down when Tony put a restraining hand on his forearm. It was Natasha who spoke up.

“That was a low blow, Clint.”

“Yeah, gotta agree with Nat there, buddy,” Tony said. “That was just mean. I think most of us,” he raised an eyebrow at Steve, “except maybe Captain Perfect, over here, have been on the wrong side of the law a time or two.”

“Fine. Whatever. You guys coddle the evil villain, just leave me out of it. If he’s still here tomorrow evening I’m calling Fury myself.” Clint threw up his hands and stormed out.

Steve gave Natasha a slightly helpless look, she nodded and rose.

“I’ll talk to him. For the record, though, he’s not entirely wrong.”

“Lady Natasha—“ Thor sounded wounded.

“I’m not saying that he’s completely right either, big guy. I’ll agree that Loki gets a chance to prove himself, but we need to be on our guard. From the stories that you’ve told us he’s far from innocent. But, then again, none of us are entirely innocent, either,” she gave a significant look at each in turn, ending on Steve with a wry smirk. “Except maybe you.”

She left to track down Clint, and Bruce spared a moment to be glad it was her and not him. He wasn’t very good at heart to hearts, and with the way the Other Guy was rumbling in the back of his head he had a feeling he wouldn’t have the patience to try right now anyway.

“Well . . . she’s not entirely wrong,” Bruce could see the shadow cross Tony’s face as he spoke.

“No, she’s not,” Steve agreed. “OK,” he nodded, then sighed heavily and rubbed his chin. “We stick to our original plan for now. Let’s give him one day to heal, then we’ll take it from there.”

“Very well. I will go see to my brother, then” Thor rose and made to leave the room. “He cannot object to my presence while he sleeps.”

Bruce spoke before he could leave, “Wait, before you go; that thing on his chest . . . Loki said that your father put it there? Do you know what it is? Is it dangerous?”

“Perhaps,” Thor looked down, obviously reluctant to speak of it. “Father has ever . . . disapproved . . . of Loki’s sorcery. It has always been considered a woman’s weapon. I fear that our father allowed that prejudice to taint his perception of Loki’s accomplishments. As did I, to my great shame. Loki mastered spells and enchantments as a child that our mother—an accomplished sorceress—had difficulty with as an adult. Instead of being proud of him for his intellect, for his talent, we ridiculed him for dabbling in women’s arts. His response was to play pranks, tricks that sometimes veered into painful or dangerous territory, yes, but they were the cries of a child needing attention all the same. I have come to understand that, but I do not believe that Father has ever been able to see it. He may have seen the binding of Loki’s magic as an opportunity to not only punish him for his transgressions against Midguard, but also as a method of forcing him to develop more . . . appropriate skills.”

“Well that’s just a dick move,” Tony said.

“Indeed. I have learned many painful truths since I was first banished to this realm; this is perhaps another that I must face.”

“He said that it binds his magic, does that mean that we’ll be safer having it active while he’s here?” Steve looked mildly uncomfortable at having to ask, but Bruce was glad that he did. It wasn’t a very diplomatic question, but one that they needed answered all the same.

Thor bristled. “I do not believe that my brother means us any harm. I trust that he is seeking aid, as he claims.”

“Thor;” Steve held both hands out, placating, “I know that you want to believe in him. He’s family, I get it; but I have to look at all possibilities. It’s my job to keep this team safe, from all enemies, even if they wear a familiar face.”

Thor nodded curtly, “I understand, Captain. I will bear responsibility for his actions while he is under our care. If he does intend mischief while here I will remove him from this realm myself. Until he proves himself a danger, though, I am placing my trust in you that he will be treated honorably.”

Bruce stepped in to play peacemaker before it all got too far out of hand.

“Thor. We’re doing the best we can for your brother; you can’t expect it to be an entirely smooth transition.”

“Of course, my apologies. I am . . . a bit overanxious, I fear. I will take my leave now.” Thor turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

“Well, that could have gone better.”

“Tony, you are, as ever, the master of understatement.”

 

 

 

A/N: Again, sorry? I made you wait for a filler chapter. Bad me.

The next one is almost done, though, so barring any more family functions or flu bugs it should be on time. Also, this is unbeta'd, so if ya'll find any mistakes just point at me and laugh and I will fix them.


	5. Chapter 5

 

A/N: OK. I’m sorry. I’ll tell you why in a few minutes.

 

 

Chapter 5

Tony

 

 

Tony had finally given up and gone to bed at five am. It had been a long day, what with Loki showing up in his living room and bleeding all over his carpet, and then—ugh—emotional conversations. So it was with great reluctance and only two hours of sleep that he greeted the seven am Assemble alarm. He ran into—and bounced off of—Steve in the hallway.

 

Tony shrugged off Steve’s stabilizing hand and tried his best to look like he hadn’t spent most of the night and early morning up to his elbows in grease. Steve, the bastard, was bright eyed and bushy-tailed and (if the smell was accurate) had already gotten in his morning run.

 

“Mornin, Cap. What evil-villain-of-the-week are we going to spank today?”

 

Steve raised a dubious eyebrow at the worn tee and boxers that he had finally crashed in, but followed him to the elevator anyway. “I’m actually not entirely sure what they are. Some sort of portal opened up over Central Park and now there are giant blue . . . _people_ smashing everything in sight. The police are there, evacuating the civilians; we’re going in to capture and detain the whatever-they-ares.”

 

Just the mention of a portal had his breath freezing in his suddenly too-tight chest. For the briefest second the hallway around him dissolved into a field of black, giant ships floating in the distance. He took a deep breath and deliberately dismissed the image. Steve, either not noticing or politely ignoring his mini flashback, was waiting with the elevator doors held open.

 

Thor appeared around the corner with Bruce in tow, bumping Tony’s shoulder as he passed and getting him moving again.

 

“They are called Frost Giants, Jotunns. They come from Jotunheim,” he said as the elevator doors closed and they began moving. “They are not a friend of Asgard or, I would guess, Midguard. They are mighty foes.”

 

“ _Frost Giants_. That seems appropriate. Since they’re blue. And Giant. Fitting.”

 

The elevator opened and spilled them all out onto the helipad, where Clint and Natasha were already boarding the prepped Quinjet. Tony stepped to the side before activating his bracelets. He had been working on the homing feature in them last night and, well, he’d been a little bit tired. And a little bit drunk. OK, he’d been a lot drunk; he had a war criminal and fugitive god camped out in his home, he had a reason to drink. He didn’t want an errant piece of armor to smack someone upside the head. Especially Natasha. She’d kick his ass. Then kill him.

 

“So . . . is this a Code Green type of thing?” Bruce asked, wringing his hands. “Loki is sedated still, but I’d rather not leave him here alone.”

 

“Nor would I,” Thor agreed. “How many Jotunns are we battling, Captain?”

 

Clint stuck his head out of the Quinjet’s open hatch and answered for him, “Reports from local authorities say six humanoids. Six really, really big humanoids.”

 

“Take care of my brother, Dr. Banner; please,” Thor asked before swinging his hammer and taking off.

 

Steve watched him go before jumping onto the already-rising ramp. “Bruce, stay here, keep an eye on our guest. Tony—“

 

“Yup. Meet you there, got it,” Tony dropped his faceplate and followed Thor.

 

“That’s . . . not what I was going to say,” Steve shook his head and boarded the jet. “Nat, let’s go before those two get into serious trouble.”

 

 

*_A_*

 

 

Viewed from above, the damage to the park was . . . impressive. The frost giants had managed to uproot quite a few trees and destroy a rather nice playground by the time Tony arrived. They stood in a group amidst the broken and twisted equipment, hurtling pieces of it at Thor, who’d at least had the presence of mind to stay out of reach and wait for the rest of his team to arrive. They were . . . well, hideous. And alarmingly huge. They were nearly twenty feet tall, with grey-blue skin and muscles that would give Tony feelings of inadequacy if he didn’t regularly hang out with Thor. Or if he wasn’t—you know—Tony Stark.

 

He checked for civilians, but they had done the smart thing—for a change—and hightailed it out of there. He dropped to the ground next to Thor.

 

“OK, big guy; what’s our plan of action here?” He very carefully did not look at the shimmering blue circle floating about 50 feet above the ground, or the empty black space within it.

 

“Kill them,” the anger in Thor’s voice shot a chill down Tony’s back.

 

“Ok. Kill them. Sounds like a plan, buddy. Any tips on how, maybe?” But Tony was talking to himself; Thor had already charged, hammer held high.

 

“Shit. Cap, you guys almost here? Thor just went kamikaze on our new friends,” Tony took to the skies again and began blasting at the loosely clustered group, trying to distract as many as he could from Thor’s charge. He was answered by the backwash of the Quinjet as it soared overhead and touched down a dozen feet away from the playground and the cranky giants.

 

He tried to stay above the fight, looking for patterns to guide his teammates with, but the battle quickly dissolved into chaos around him and he found himself putting out fires one at a time instead of paying attention to the whole. He was going to blame lack of sleep for that later, certainly not the hangover pounding away at his temples.

 

Giants one and two met Thor’s headlong rush. Their mistake. Thor was _mad_ and gleefully taking it out on the frost giants. Tony actually felt kind of sorry for those two.

 

The ramp lowered on the ‘jet and Steve rushed out, taking a running leap and coming down shield first on giant number three. It shrugged off the hit, wrapped its hand around Steve and slammed him to the ground. Tony blasted it in the back of the head and it turned toward him, ignoring Steve and _wow_ these things were not smart. Cap used the monster’s distraction to hammer the backs of its knees with his shield and it folded like a, well, like a giant house of cards. So sue him, he was too ~~hungover~~ tired to come up with a decently witty simile. He blasted its head a few more times, just because, then left Steve to beat the living crap out of that one when he heard Clint yelling somewhere behind him.

 

He turned just in time to see giant number four wrap its meaty arms around the tree that Clint was currently perched in and _heave_ , pulling the entire thing out of the ground and swinging it madly through the air. Clint jumped when the top of the tree neared the ground, but the no-doubt-graceful landing that he had planned was interrupted when giant number five swung a casual backhand and knocked the archer through the air. Tony poured on the speed, but he was too far away and Clint was travelling away from him with all the momentum that a giant blue arm could provide. He hit the ground with a nasty crunch just before Tony could reach him.

 

Tony blasted giant number five in the face as he jetted past—they _really_ didn’t like the repulsor blasts and he wondered if it was the heat because, hello, _frost giants_ —and landed next to the downed archer.

 

“Hawkeye, you OK?” Tony reached for his shoulder, but judging by the amount of cursing coming from the pile of person on the ground in front of him nothing vital had been injured. Clint rolled over and glared at him.

 

“That asshole broke my bow!”

 

Tony’s eyes widened behind his faceplate. “Yeah, buddy, I’m a little more concerned with the fact that JARVIS is telling me that your wrist is broken.”

 

“Fuck the wrist. That bow was brand-fucking-new!”

 

“Yeah. OK then. Clench up,” was the only warning Tony gave him before grabbing him under the arms and depositing him on top of the Quinjet.

 

As soon as his feet hit the metal Clint pulled a gun and fired it over Tony’s shoulder, emptying it into giant number . . . what was he on now, six? . . . who had been sneaking up behind him.

 

“Thanks buddy,” Tony called, blasting number six a couple of times before taking off to finish off numbers four and five. He was, well, not surprised to find Natasha riding number four’s shoulders like some sort of very strange rodeo cowgirl, shocking it into submission with her Widow’s Bites. Number five was still writhing around on the ground, so he blasted that one a couple of more times to shut him up and turned to help Natasha finish off number four and, really, why did he even bother. She casually jumped off of the already-downed monster and dusted her hands.

 

Thor yelled a warning somewhere behind them and Tony turned to see more of the monsters falling out of the portal, one of them landing directly on the thunderer. He flew over to help, grabbing Steve’s upraised hand along the way and using the momentum to swing the super-soldier ahead of him and into the fray. It was a good thing that he did, because giant number seven—one that he hadn’t even seen—swatted him out of the air and slammed him into the ground. He felt a huge hand wrap around his leg and squeeze before lifting him off of the ground and slamming him back into it. Repeatedly. The constant hammering did no favors for his hangover, and he spent a precious few seconds simply trying not to throw up inside of his helmet. He’d done that once. Not pretty.

 

He engaged his boot thruster and the pressure on his leg suddenly fell away, the thrust sending him rocketing along the ground and headfirst into a concrete pillar. Well, his suit was stronger than a dinky pillar, but damn did that hurt. His ears were ringing so much that he could barely hear the shouting over the comms. He heard the _Watch out!_ , but too late to do anything about it. The same huge hand lifted him again, this time around his chest, and _squeezed_. Hard.

 

Alarm lights flashed red across his HUD, and he thought he heard JARVIS calling out a warning, but the buzzing in his ears was getting louder and air was suddenly too hard to come by. He could feel the armor bending around his chest ( _That shouldn’t be happening_ ) and the edges of the ARC reactor housing pushing into his lungs ( _That_ really _shouldn’t be happening_ ). He did his best impression of a landed fish, but there was no room left for his chest to expand and all of the air in his lungs had already been squeezed out. The edges of his vision was steadily darkening when all of a sudden most of the pressure disappeared and he was able to take a shallow breath. Not much, but at least enough to keep from passing out.

 

He was dropped to the ground and through the fritzing HUD saw Steve and Natasha beating the crap out of the giant that had been crushing him. It was . . . impressive. And scary. Very, very scary. And yeah, that would be a big ‘yes’ on the concussion question. The giant went down and Steve followed it to the ground, mashing its head to a pulp with the edge of his shield. Natasha ran over to Tony, searching for the releases to get the mangled armor off of his chest.

 

He tried to help, but the metal was contorted so badly that he couldn’t get his arms raised. They all froze when Clint screamed, “THOR!”

 

The big guy was down, giants eight and nine stomping him into the ground. Giant eight stood on his arm, pinning it and his hammer uselessly to the ground. Number nine stood on his other arm and stomped repeatedly on his chest and face. Both were laughing and demanding to know where ‘the runt’ was. Thor tried to raise his hammer, but he was well and truly pinned. Clint, gun in hand, was racing to the god’s aid.

 

Steve crouched next to Natasha, grabbed the armor, and _ripped._ It lifted Tony off of the ground for a second, but the twisted titanium alloy finally gave and he could breathe again. Steve yelled for Natasha to get him clear, then turned to help Thor. He didn’t get far.

 

There was a loud < _pop_ > and Loki was suddenly there. He was grey and swaying, and the bandages wrapped around his chest were spotting red, but he was determinedly pulling at the velcro on the sling that held his arm strapped to his chest.

 

“Loki!” Steve shouted. “What are you doing?! How did you get here?!”

 

Loki turned his head and stared directly at them, but Tony didn’t think that he was really seeing them. His eyes were wide, way too much white showing around the green, and Tony felt a chill run down his back that had nothing to do with the frost giants that he’d just gotten up close and personal with. There was a green haze around him, almost like smoke floating off of his shoulders. It grew even as he watched.

 

“Run,” Loki whispered, turning back to Thor and the giants holding him down.

 

Steve grabbed Tony under the arms and lifted and he hazed out for a moment from the pain. When he could think again, they were already on the ground next to the ‘jet’s still-open ramp. There were still black dots floating lazily around the edges of his vision.

 

Loki approached the giants with halting steps, almost seeming to drag himself along. They stopped stomping on Thor when they saw him and began actually pointing and laughing. Tony entertained several nasty thoughts about playground bullies before realizing that he was actually _empathizing with Loki._ Gah, he needed a drink. And possibly some oxygen.

 

Loki ignored both the taunting and Thor’s increasingly desperate screams for him to run, to get away. He stopped just outside of the giant’s reach and dropped to his knees. He bent forward, as if he were bowing, and placed his good fist on the ground. One of the giants stepped off of Thor—not the one pinning his hammer, they weren’t quite that stupid, unfortunately—and took a single step toward the bowing trickster.

 

Loki screamed. The green mist that had been steadily gathering around him burst outward and thickened, and just before the giants disappeared from view behind it they began screaming, too. There was another < _pop_ >, much louder this time, and the mist cleared as if it had never been there in the first place. Thor was sitting up, the giants were all gone, the portal was closed, and Loki lay unmoving on the ground.

 

Thor scrambled over to his brother, turning him over and calling his name. Loki didn’t flinch. Steve and Natasha were there a second later, Steve yelling that he wasn’t breathing before starting CPR. Tony swallowed, hard, watching as Steve pumped Loki’s chest and Natasha breathed for him. Clint thumped Tony on the shoulder before joining them. He put a comforting hand on Thor’s shoulder, and they all watched for a moment that seemed to stretch far too long.

 

Finally Loki’s back arched and he sucked in a breath before collapsing back to the ground. Thor pushed his way around Steve and gathered his unresponsive brother into his arms, throwing them both into the sky and away. Tony thumped his head back against the ‘jet, breathing as deeply as his injured chest would allow. He could feel the beating and lack of oxygen (and . . . relief, maybe?) catching up to him. The black dots around the edges of his vision grew, merged, and he very gratefully passed out.

 

 

A/N: Like I said . . . sorry! I hate cliffhangers, but this just needed to stop right there. Also, I updated the tags because I am a mean, mean person.

 

I know I’m taking liberties with the Frost Giants, but I wanna. They work better for my plot this way. So . . . there.

 

Drop me a line?


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Steve

 

 

Steve could hear Tony long before he got to the medial wing and something in his chest loosened. If he was arguing that loudly he couldn’t be too badly hurt. Also, he was awake, so there was that. There had been a moment there, when he’d come back to the ‘jet to find Tony unconscious . . . . Well. It had been a shock, so soon after having to restart the heart of a being that he had thought was nigh invincible.

 

“No! Don’t pull on that section. Look, just look. There’s a release right there, if you’d just . . . Ow! Damn, fuck. OK, yeah, not doing that one again.” Tony was laying back on the bed when Steve and Natasha entered, his face pale and drawn. Most of the damaged armor around his chest had already been removed, but there were still large chunks of twisted metal around his right leg. He was shirtless, and Steve winced to see the darkening bruises that covered nearly his whole chest and what he could see of his back.

 

A petite, dark-haired nurse stood next to the head of the bed. She grabbed the oxygen mask that hung around the billionaire’s neck and put it back on his face. From her expression, he guessed that it wasn’t the first time she’d done that. Then again, most people had that exasperated, vaguely murderous expression after too much exposure to Tony.

 

Clint, standing out of the way in the corner and cradling his freshly-casted wrist to his chest, just smirked at the show.

 

One of the techs near Tony’s legs did something with a hydraulic drill and another piece of armor fell to the floor. “Hey!” he shouted, pulling the mask off of his face again and half-sitting up. “That section alone is worth more money than you’ll ever make. Be careful!”

 

The nurse rolled her eyes, shoved the inventor none-too-gently back down onto the bed, pulled the mask up, and very firmly placed it back on his face. Tony turned to glare at her, but the drill whirred again and he flinched and turned the glare on the group crowded around his legs.

 

Steve went to step in before the situation could dissolve any further, but Natasha brushed neatly past him and took the place of the nurse by the bed. Another bit of armor clunked to the floor and the mask came off again. Natasha had it back in place before Tony could open his mouth to berate the techs further. He reached a hand up to remove it, but at a glare from Nat he subsided, finally laying back to let the techs work. Steve was grateful to her for a moment, until he heard the voice behind him. She hadn’t volunteered to help with Tony so much as she had moved to place Steve between herself and Director Fury. The traitor. He couldn’t help but notice that Clint had melted back innocuously into the shadows, too. They were both awful, awful people.

 

“Captain,” Fury greeted. He sounded cordial enough, but Steve couldn’t stop the guilty tensing of his shoulders.

 

“Director,” he nodded as Fury stepped up next to him. “I thought you were still on the Helicarrier.”

 

“I can’t come to check on my favorite superheroes?” his voice was cool and completely, utterly neutral. The unease in Steve’s gut ratcheted up a notch. “Interesting battle your team just had. Frost Giants?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Some of Thor’s buddies?”

 

“They didn’t seem to like him very much, sir.”

 

“His brother’s friends, then?”

 

Steve turned a narrow-eyed look on Fury. “I have no idea, sir; why would you think that?”

 

Fury gave him a look, the one that said _I think you’re an idiot, but I’m not going to waste my time telling you that_ and stalked past Steve to the man currently captive on the hospital bed.

 

“Stark!” he barked.

 

Steve felt his spine straighten automatically at that tone, a vicarious stand to attention. Tony, however, had the opposite reaction. He slumped further down in the bed and waited a deliberate beat before turning a smirk to Fury.

 

“Sir, yes sir,” he said, pulling the mask off again and offering a sloppy salute.

 

“Why are you giving my people so much damn trouble? No—don’t answer that. I don’t really care. Just lay still and let my agents work. Unless you want to be stuck in that damn tin can.”

 

“Do you have any kindergartners available? Cause I think they could probably do a better job than this. These . . . these luddites are destroying my suit! I could do better than this with a stick of chewing gum and a matchbook. I know. I’ve done it. They have to be the worst excuse—“ Tony stopped mid-sentence and turned an accusing look on the petite nurse. She held up a syringe, waggled it at him, and flashed a smile with far too many teeth in it. “Wha th hell wazzat?” he slurred.

 

She smiled sweetly at him. “This next bit’s going to be pretty painful, Mr. Stark. It’s probably best if you’re out for it.”

 

Tony goggled at her and Steve hid a grin behind his hand. Tony’s head wobbled for a moment, then his eyes rolled up and he was out. Natasha caught his head and lowered it gently to the pillow. She didn’t bother to hide her smile.

 

“Nurse Brock, I don’t believe I was done conversing with Stark.” Fury rounded on the small woman with a look that had been known to send hardened assassins running for cover.

 

“Sorry, sir,” the woman turned her saccharine smile onto the Director. “I really don’t think Mr. Stark is going to enjoy the rest of his treatment if he remains conscious.” Her eyes narrowed and she fingered another syringe meaningfully. “And I believe you’re overdue for your monthly checkup, sir.”

 

Fury held her gaze for a long moment before turning to Steve, “Come with me, Captain; we need to have a conversation.” He glanced at the nurse again, turned on his heel, and left the room a bit faster than was strictly necessary.

 

Clint materialized at Steve’s elbow and gave a low whistle. “Wow, remind me not to piss her off,” he whispered before making his own hasty exit. Steve had to agree. He followed Fury out, making a mental note to have Nurse Brock assigned to treat Tony from now on.

 

 

*_A_*

 

 

Fury led Steve to a room near the end of the hall, opened the door, and gestured politely for him to enter. He did so, taking one of the two seats across from the plain metal desk that dominated the room and trying very hard _not_ to look like someone who was harboring a fugitive.

 

Fury casually sat in the chair behind the desk and began sorting through papers as if Steve wasn’t there.

 

“How is Loki doing?” he asked, not even looking up from the paperwork.

 

Steve blinked. He took a breath, opened his mouth, closed it, and blinked again. Of course Fury knew about Loki being back on earth; the battle against the Frost Giants had been in a fairly public location, after all.

 

“I’m not really sure, sir,” he answered cautiously. “He was pretty beat up after that magic trick he pulled. Thor took him straight back to the Tower and I haven’t had a chance to contact him yet.”

 

“I’m sure Dr. Banner has him sorted out by now,” Fury replied, still neutral and focused on his paperwork.

 

“I’m sure,” Steve answered, his tone just as neutral.

 

“Any idea why he picked Earth to hole up in?”

 

“I imagine that he wanted to be close to his brother,” Steve was getting very tired of talking to the top of Fury’s head. “How long have you known he was here, sir?”

 

Fury finally looked up and raised a single eyebrow, that _you’re an idiot_ look back on his face.

 

Steve sighed and rubbed his hands over his face before crossing his arms. “You’ve known this whole time, haven’t you,” it wasn’t really a question.

 

“Let’s just say that Stark’s security isn’t quite as good as he thinks it is. If and when that bastard becomes a threat, Captain, I expect you to have my number on speed dial. Are we clear?”

 

Steve narrowed his eyes, “And until then?”

 

“Until then, keep him on lockdown and carry on.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Why are you leaving this to us? Why aren’t you sweeping in with a cage and a team of agents?”

 

“I have my reasons.”

 

“I’m sorry, but the safety of my team is at stake here. That’s not good enough.”

 

“That’s too damn bad, _Captain_ Rodgers. You’ll just have to trust that I know what I’m doing and leave it at that.”

 

Steve sat back, crossed his arms, and gave the Fury his own narrow-eyed stare. “You want him as an asset, don’t you,” that wasn’t a question, either.

 

Fury held his stare for a moment, then smiled. It was . . . slightly unnerving and Steve felt his stomach squirm.

 

“There’s hope for you yet, Captain.” Dismissed.” Fury turned back to his paperwork.

 

Steve sat for a beat, debating whether it was worth arguing or not. No, it really wasn’t. Fury had his secrets and he knew for a fact that the spy wouldn’t tell him anything he wasn’t good and ready to. He got up and left the room without another word. He needed to check on Thor, anyway, and Loki. It was unnerving how worried he actually was about the trickster. He knew that Loki was not a good guy, but if half of what he’d said had been true . . . well. There were always two sides to every story, and Steve found himself actually wanting to know all of Loki’s tale.

 

 

*_A_*

 

 

Steve left Natasha to look after Tony, trusting her to keep the billionaire’s mouth from getting him into more trouble with the scary nurse. He’d offered to get another agent to take him back to the tower to check on Thor, Bruce, and Loki, but Clint insisted on driving him. The look on Clint’s face when he said that he wanted to help Steve ‘check’ on Loki was honestly frightening.

 

The trip back to the tower and up to the medical wing was tense and mostly silent. Steve made a few uncomfortable attempts at small talk, but Clint didn’t appear to be in the mood to be distracted.

 

Thor and Loki had both looked bad when they left Central Park. He was anxious to check on them both and make sure that they had made it back safely. Steve found himself wiping his hands unconsciously on his pants, remembering the way Loki’s ribs had shifted under them when he’d had to do CPR.

 

They took the elevator to the medical wing, Clint still silent and closed off. Thor sat in a chair next to his brother’s bed, defeat and sorrow clear in every line of his body. His head hung low, face buried in an ice pack, and his left arm was held awkwardly in his lap, covered in a damp towel.

 

Loki lay in the bed, his already slender form dwarfed by the machinery surrounding him. Steve recognized none of it save the ventilator hooked to a tube running down the god’s narrow throat. The bruises from before had already healed to a nasty yellow-green, but the little skin he could see between the bruises and machinery was a sickly grey. His chest rose and fell to the rhythm of the machine. Nothing else about him moved. He looked more dead now than he had when not breathing on the battlefield.

 

“He looks bad, Bruce,” Steve indicated Loki with a nod.

 

“He is bad. I’m honestly not sure how he’s still alive. He wasn’t breathing when Thor brought him in; I had to put him on the ventilator as soon as we got here. If he were human I’d be worried about brain damage.” Bruce pulled off his glasses and polished them on his shirttail before putting them back on. “His heart isn’t functioning properly, either. I’ve put him on an external pacemaker for now, but if it doesn’t start beating regularly on its own soon I may have to take more drastic measures.”

 

“He used too much magic to send the Jotunns back to Jotunheim, to save me. There is little left to sustain him,” Thor spoke without raising his head, defeat and sorrow in every line of his body.

 

Clint turned to him, “Wait, are you saying that he’ll, what, _die_ without his magic?”

 

“Yes,” Thor raised his head finally. A darkening bruise covered the left side of his face from hairline to nearly jaw. Steve winced. Thor was incredibly hard to hurt; he didn’t want to know what such a blow would have done to a human.

 

“When Loki was young, he was not as robust as I. He tried to participate in the games that my friends and I played, but all too often he would end up injured or left out. Eventually he stopped trying. I was too wrapped up in myself and my foolish notions of honor to notice his withdrawal. Perhaps if I had ….” Thor trailed off, staring at his brother’s slack face with sad eyes for a moment before continuing.

 

“He is intelligent. Far more so, I think, than any one of us have ever given him credit for. Where his body failed him, he turned to intellect and magic. We ridiculed him. He played to his strengths, mastered spells and enchantments that those far older than himself could not hope to accomplish, and yet we did not praise his achievements. We mocked him as weak, when he was one of the strongest of us all.” Thor set the ice pack carefully on his towel-wrapped arm and used his now free hand to grip his brother’s slack one.

 

“He is quite contrary by nature, my brother,” Clint snorted, but Thor ignored him and continued, “and I fear that the scorn we heaped upon him only drove him further into his studies. Eventually his magic consumed him. He confided to me once that he was frightened of the extents to which he had gone; that he was afraid that he would one day simply become magical energy and cease to exist as himself.”

 

“Well that sucks,” Clint said. He tried to cross his arms, was foiled by the bulk of the cast, and settled for cradling the broken arm awkwardly. He leaned against the wall and looked thoughtfully at the still form in the medical bed.

 

“Yes,” Thor agreed quietly. “Yes, it does indeed ‘suck.’”

 

The quiet stretched out for a few uncomfortable moments before Bruce cleared his throat.

 

“So, Thor . . . is there anything that you know of that will help? I’ve done all that I can medically; without some, um, _other_ sort of intervention we may have to call in an actual medical doctor. If he doesn’t get better soon we’ll have to notify SHIELD.”

 

Thor shook his head. “I do not know magic sufficient to fix this sort of damage. It was always an afterthought to me; the strength of my arm was of much more import that the cunning of spells.” He looked at Steve with that whipped puppy look that a god should, by rights, not be able to pull off so well. “I do not know what to do.”

 

Clint stood abruptly and crossed to the bed before Steve could unknot his throat enough to answer. He stood over Loki and looked down at him with something close to pity on his face. “Will he survive?”

 

A tear rolled down Thor’s face, and he sounded as close to broken as Steve had ever heard. “I know not.”

 

“What can I do to help?” Clint asked.

 

Steve held himself very still, deliberately not letting the shock show on his face.

 

Thor nodded and gave Clint the shadow of a smile. “Thank you, my friend, but unless we find a way to remove the enchantment that binds and slows his magic I fear that there is nothing further we can do. Simply supporting his body while his magic rebuilds itself is, I think, the best and only course of action for now. If I contact my mother, Frigga, she may have a suggestion, but I do not know to what extent she is involved in Loki’s punishment. If he does not improve, I will risk the communication.”

 

“So, your mom might be in on this ‘punishment,’ too?” Clint asked.

 

“Perhaps. She has ever harbored a gentle will toward her youngest son, so perhaps not.”

 

Clint snorted. “So he’s the baby of the family and mommy’s favorite, huh? That might explain a few things.”

 

Thor just looked confused, but Steve allowed himself a small smile. “If you decide to contact your mother, let us know first, please.”

 

“Of course, Captain.”

 

Clint looked thoughtfully at Loki for a moment more, then turned and left the room without another word. Steve waited a beat, then unfolded himself from the wall and followed.

 

 

 

 

A/N: You get a twofer this week. Surprise! This was supposed to be chapters six and seven, but it just worked better for me as one really long chapter, so . . . Yay!

 

Fury is an ass. I tried to get him to cooperate, but he just stood in the corner and called me unsavory names until I went with what he gave me and gave up. He may feature more heavily later in the story, but with the way that brat is acting probably not.

 

That scene with the nurse drugging Tony and the earlier one with Tony screaming at Loki about throwing him out a window are the two that inspired this entire story. Probably because—though I love Tony to death—I really think that I would want to drug him and/or toss him out a window myself if I were forced to spend any appreciable amount of time with him. He’s a sweetheart, really, but he’s also more than a little bit obnoxious.

 

ThankyouThankyouThankyou to everyone that has commented, liked, and/or read with me thus far. I get stupid excited when I open up my email and find another comment. Ta for now!

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Warning! Angst ahead. So, so much angst.

 

I know I’ve been updating on Wednesdays, but today is my birthday so I thought I’d give ya’ll a little present! Enjoy!

 

 

Chapter 7

Loki

 

 

Loki remembered. His body lay insensate in a bed in his enemy’s stronghold while his mind wandered without his permission through the catastrophe that had been his life.

 

From his first breath he had not been good enough. Laufey had left him in a temple to die: the unwanted runt of the litter. Then Odin had taken him and raised him and for a time he had been happy; when he had been young enough and stupid enough to believe the lie that he belonged. It had not taken long for him to see: to see the preference, the affection, the _pride_ that belonged to Thor and not to him. Never to him. Odin had compared him always to the one he had called brother, and it was never a favorable comparison.

 

He had turned his mind to his studies when it had become apparent that he could not compete with Thor physically, but even that had not pleased the All-Father. He had found brief succor with Frigga, but even that balm had faded as he had grown older and it had become less socially acceptable for him to pass so much time with his mother. He had tried for a while to convince himself that he was happy without friends, without acceptance. He had hidden his frustrations in pranks and mischief, had found small moments of genuine happiness at times in the vexation of Thor and his comrades.

 

When the battle with the Jotunns had come and his true heritage had been revealed, the fragile and thin happiness that he had built for himself had burst and left its sharp remains deep in his heart and mind. Odin’s admission that he had been nothing more than a tool to be used at some future date had driven those shards deeper. He had met with Laufey, hoping that he could at least salvage some small shred of dignity, but the monster had laughed in his face, had bragged of ridding himself of the burden that was Loki, and he had felt shame rise up and smother him. He had lashed out in his anger, had tried to hurt those who had hurt him. Laufey had fallen to his magic, channeled through Gunginir, but in the end Thor and Odin had bested him. He had planned to destroy Jotunheim, to make of himself an oddity instead of one monster in a race of monsters, but he had been defeated. Odin’s final denial had proven too much to bear, and he had chosen to let himself fall rather than live as the failure that he had always been.

 

Falling had been no better. He had hoped for oblivion, for the sweet release from the torment of not knowing who he was or where he belonged—he had hoped only for death. Perhaps he would be fortunate enough to be reunited with his daughter; perhaps the Norns would smile upon him and would simply cease to exist.

 

Of course, a being as pathetic and unwanted as he could not hope to have his wishes answered. Instead of death, he had simply continued to fall. The Void was an endless nothing. Formless, timeless, and extraordinarily, unutterably _lonely._ He had fallen without end, without sight or sound, without comfort or aid. After a time he had noticed thirst, but there had been no water to slake it; he had hungered but there had been no food to fill his belly. For a while he’d cherished these sensations; they were unpleasant, but at least it had been something to feel in this incredible nothingness. After a time, though, they, too had left him.

 

He’d hallucinated, of course. Odin had come to him, to jeer at him for daring to think he could have ever be a worthy son, to bemoan the time wasted on him, time that should have been spent on Thor, on Odin’s _real_ son. Frigga had come, too, but had refused to speak. She’d stared at him, disappointment clear on her face, then turned her back. No matter how he had pleaded, no matter how many tears he had shed, the woman that he had called mother had refused speak with him, had not offered even the smallest comfort in his ceaseless torment. Thor, though, when Thor had come to visit in his madness it had been Loki who had turned his back, who had refused to hear the words that the true son of Asgard spoke. Even in his loneliness the thought of Thor had been too painful to bear. After a time, though, even the hallucinations had left him and he had been left to fall alone.

 

He did not know how long he fell—eons, he was sure, or perhaps mere days. When the portal had opened and pulled his body through it had been overwhelming and too painful to bear. He’d curled his wasted body tight, hands over his ears and eyes clenched to avoid the light, the sound, the pain of stimulus thrust upon a body too long denied. The hands that had fallen upon him were not gentle. They had pulled and twisted, had forced him to stand, to walk, to bow in front of . . . in front of . . . of . . . .

 

His memories of this period were . . . fuzzy, indistinct. There had been only pain. Whips on his back, blows raining down upon his body without end, the sharp crack and grind of bones broken again and again and again and over it all, the VOICE. Commanding him to obey, to bend his will to that of . . . of . . . of . . . .

 

Then he had been on Midguard, and he had had a staff and an army both human and not, and the VOICE had still resonated inside him, demanding obedience. He had resisted. In small ways, at first, then in ways larger and larger. Instructing Selvig to build a fatal flaw in the portal device had been difficult, but he had done it. That small act of defiance helped quiet the VOICE, just a bit. Surrendering to the Avengers in Germany had been more difficult, but it built upon that first insubordination and the VOICE grew just that little bit softer.

 

It noticed, of course, and had fought back, screaming in his mind, tearing through him with claws made from his own bones. The pain had made him bolder, strengthened his resolve to resist, to take his will back from . . . from . . . from . . . .

 

He had lost large stretches of time. He would turn his mind inward, pulling at the cords of agony and influence that bound him, only to wake and find that hours had passed and his body had been active without him. It was in those moments that he despaired, but it was also those moments from which he drew the most strength. He would not suffer this control lightly. His will was his own, and he would command it again no matter the cost.

 

Then had come the confrontation with Thor. He had found that the control that he’d fought so hard for had come much easier with his true foe in front of him. Ever it had been Thor who caused the most suffering in his life: Thor who belittled and ignored him as a child, Thor upon whom Odin doted, Thor who was the real son, Thor of whom he had ever been only a pale imitation. The knife in his hand had been conjured by his own will, and it had felt good, so good to plunge it into Thor’s gut and watch the betrayal on his face when he twisted. He’d felt the VOICE within him rejoice, and the satisfaction that he’d felt fled with the knowledge that he’d been manipulated yet again. He had felt sickened, knowing that his own confusing hatred for his brother had allowed the VOICE to have more control over his mind than even the torture had granted.

 

He had found himself screaming at the green beast, the confusion and pain and torment in his mind swirling together until he could do no more than throw a childish tantrum. He’d drawn all of his frustration together and had thrown it at the beast, hoping that it would simply tear him to shreds and end his torment once and for all.

 

After, lying wheezing in the crater that the beast had bashed into the floor with his body, he had rejoiced. The VOICE was gone. Whether from the damage that had been done to his body, distance created by the closing of the portal, or his own constant struggle for control he knew not. He could only revel in the quiet inside his own head. Surrendering to the Avengers in the end felt more like a victory than a defeat.

 

Then had come the trail on Asgard. The relief that had come with freedom from the VOICE had shriveled and died within him with every admonition that Odin had heaped upon his head. That Frigga had stood silently by and allowed his verbal evisceration had hurt more than he would ever admit. He’d refused to even acknowledge the relief he’d felt when Thor had proved absent from the entire proceedings. Though the muzzle had been removed, he’d offered no excuse for his actions, opting instead to stand silent and regal in the face of his accusers.

_You sit there and list my failures, old man, yet say nothing of your own. You have failed me in every way imaginable. I am no more than a tool to your eye. Always it was Thor who held your affections, Thor of whom you boasted, Thor upon whom you doted. I have ever been in his shadow because you have held me there. I have never been good enough, strong enough, fast enough for you. I have never been worthy in your view, no matter how I tried. Oh yes, you failed me, Odin. You failed me as a king and you most especially failed me as a father._

 

The words had been there, clenched tight behind teeth that he would never part for their passing. The emptiness of never being what Odin wanted, of never seeing the same affection in Odin’s eye that he saw when the All-Father looked upon Thor had ached in his chest and begged to be expressed, but stubborn pride had kept his mouth firmly shut. He’d refused to let Odin see his pain; it was far better to mask it behind arrogance. He longed with all of his being to see approval in Odin’s eye, but feared that to see pity there would prove his undoing.

 

The pronouncement of his sentence had been no surprise. Odin had long scoffed at his use of magic over might, and even he could admit—in hindsight, at least—that the attempted destruction of Jotunheim had been a childish and foolhardy act. That had not made the pain and humiliation any easier to bear. To be stripped of all that he was, in front of the entire court and all of Asgard . . . he had longed for a moment to return to the damnable void.

 

Frigga’s absence had hurt the most. As he had lay screaming, held in chains on the floor of the throne room while Odin’s sorcerers bound his magic away from, he had searched desperately for her face, for some hint of kindness with which to bear this agony. But she had left after the pronouncement; she had hidden herself away from the implementation of her husband’s torture of the child that she had called son. One more abandonment to add to his ever growing list of grievances.

 

Odin had decreed that he be hidden away in the cells under the palace—ignored and abandoned and left to rot in a cage with the scum of the nine realms—but that had not been where he had found himself when he had woken from his stupor after the torture in the throne room. He had opened his eyes to find himself in the frozen wastes of Jotunheim. He had lain, too weak from the magical binding to yet move, for an entire day before the first of the Jotunns found him. He had found his strength, then.

 

Hounded by the giants across the entirety of Jotunheim, he had fought when he could, had run when he could no longer fight, and had finally given up when he could no longer run. It wasn’t until they had him in hand, sure of their victory, that the stubborn core of him had risen to the challenge. He’d found that despite the starvation, the torture, the binding of his magic, even despite the abandonment by any who may have ever held him dear . . . he wanted to live. He had reached deep inside of himself, gathered together the shreds of magic that he could still access and, using more than was safe, had transported himself to the last place that even the ever-wise All-Father would think to look.

 

He had woken, later—the unfamiliar groggy pull of human medication in his blood, the all-too familiar feel of wounds on his body, and the disturbingly _draining_ sensation of the magical inhibitor on his chest—to the terrifying and absolute certainty that something was **_wrong_**. He had panicked, certain for a moment that the owner of the VOICE had found him. But the wrenching that he had felt was . . . different. He had pulled away the wires that connected him to mortal machines and followed it, stepping through a portal before he had realized that he’d even created it. The thoughtless action had left him nearly too weak to stand.

 

He had been greeted by the sight of the giants that had hunted him across all of Jotunheim beating his brother into the ground. For a brief second, he had been thrilled—now Thor who would feel at least some of the pain that he had endured; it was Thor who would know the bitter taste of defeat, spiced with blood and broken bones. Then they had laughed. It had been the same laugh that had driven him to Midguard, had driven him to seek aid from his enemies, to seek aid from his brother.

 

A calm had come upon him, then. He knew that he would not live to regret his decision, and he was glad to find that there was a freedom in that. Thor had ever been at the root of all that was wrong in his life, but in the end it was he who would end Thor, not this Jotunn scum. And if he could not end him, then let Thor live with the knowledge that it was he who had caused the death of one he called brother.

 

He had gathered all of the tattered shreds of magic that lay inside of himself, pulling it from blood and bone and sinew and gathering it all together into one final spell. He had thrown it all at the giants, everything that he had left, and destroyed their access to this realm, to the brother that only he was allowed to hurt. He had welcomed the emptiness that had followed with a gland and weary heart.

 

It wasn’t until later, when he opened eyes that he had never expected to open again, that he realized the truth that he’d hidden even from himself. He did not want to die. He wanted—with a fierceness that surprised and somewhat frightened him—to live.

 

He was back in bed, surrounded again by irritatingly beeping machines. Thor lay upon his uninjured arm, snorting loudly and drooling. It was utterly ridiculous, unbecoming of either of them, and entirely disgusting. He tightened his fingers around Thor’s meaty hand and went back to sleep.

 

 

A/N: OK. There was a scene in Thor where Laufey admitted to Loki that he was his son and he’d abandoned him to die. It was cut from the movie to make Loki look more unhinged crazy than emotionally distraught crazy. I don’t think that’s very fair to my poor, abused green god so I added it back in, just a bit.

 

Didja like it? Drop me a line and let me know what you think! Reviews are my favorite birthday presents.


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